Concrete Angel
by Satanira
Summary: Based on the song 'Concrete Angel' by Martina McBride. Rated for violence, language, bigotry, and other assorted nasty stuff. Possible yaoi and yuri. Relenafree. Rating subject to change without notice.
1. Chapter One

Concrete Angel  
  
by Satanira  
  
based on the song by Martina McBride (this is not a songfic)  
  
It hadn't really been all that bad at first; just a smack here and there, a few beatings if his old man thought he deserved it. Nothing any ordinary kid didn't go through. It was minimalized by not talking back, doing well in school, doing what he was told, and staying out of his father's way. Then he made one little mistake that turned his life into a miserable hell.  
  
He got caught kissing his boyfriend.  
  
When the head of the Barton family found out his only son was 'queer,' the beatings became almost ritual.  
  
He started wearing jeans and turtlenecks to hide the bruises and scars. He didn't want the stares he'd get. He didn't want the questions, the whispers behind his back. He didn't want the pity. He just wanted to be left alone.  
  
So every day, he went to school, sat in the very last row of desks, and kept to himself. He went home, got his ass kicked, did his homework and chores, and usually went to bed hungry. An agonizing daily routine that was his life.  
  
"Hey, Fag!" Trowa's younger sister Catherine yelled from the bottom of the stairs, "Hurry up and get down here, or I'll tell Dad you made me late for school again!"  
  
Trowa growled under his breath as he swung his bag onto his shoulder, wincing as the strap cut painfully into a fresh bruise there. Last night had been a bad night; Triton had been drunk, which always led to harsher 'punishments.'  
  
"Coming, Catherine!" He called, running out of his room and down the stairs as fast as he safely could.  
  
"It's about time, Fag." Catherine snapped from the front door. "What were you doing, putting on your makeup?"  
  
"Please not today, Catherine." Trowa pleaded, closing his eyes briefly against the pain of an oncoming headache. He brushed past her and stepped outside, wondering how he was going to explain the giant bruise on his temple if anyone noticed it. "Let's just go, okay?"  
  
"Whatever." Catherine spat in disgust, clamoring into the passenger seat of Trowa's secondhand jeep. "But you better not talk to me in school today."  
  
"Do I ever?" Trowa asked flatly, backing out of the driveway.  
  
"And drop me off at Sara's house today. Marcie's skipping."  
  
"As you wish, madam."  
  
Trowa slid into his seat in the back corner of his first class moments before the bell rang, thus avoiding both the social interaction with his classmates and being late.  
  
Across the room, Zechs Merquise cast a worried glance at Trowa, touching his own forehead to indicate he'd seen Trowa's newest injury. Trowa shook his head slightly and gave the blond a soft smile, indicating that the bruise looked worse than it was.  
  
Then the teacher began the day's lesson, and the boys turned their attention to the board.  
  
Trowa slipped inside behind Catherine, making as little noise as he possible could. We went upstairs long enough to dump his bookbag and keys, then headed for the kitchen. Triton was due home in a few hours, and it was Trowa's ass if dinner wasn't waiting.  
  
"Hey, Fag!" Catherine called from the living room. "Make me a snack while you're in there! And I need cookies for Brian tomorrow, ya hear?!"  
  
"Yes, Catherine!" Trowa called back, rolling up his sleeves. If he made a cold snack right now and put half in the fridge, Catherine would have something for her late-night snack. The roast he'd picked out could be prepped while the cookies were baking, then put in the oven for about 40 minutes, leaving him time to clean up and make a side dish or two. Piece of cake.  
  
Catherine poked her head into the dining room, the remains of a celery stalk hanging out of her mouth, to see how things were going. For a fag, her brother wasn't a half-bad cook. She'd be almost sad to see him go in a year when he turned eighteen.  
  
Judging by the smell, there was some kind of roast and baked potatoes, meaning there was probably a salad in the mix somewhere, too. Trowa always made full meals; even breakfast was restaurant quality.  
  
"How much longer?" She asked, her blue-gray eyes sparkling as her brother appeared with the roast. "I'm hungry."  
  
"We can eat when Triton gets home." Trowa told her, meaning she and her father could eat; Trowa would wait until they were finished before he touched anything.  
  
"Did you make those cookies?" She asked, suddenly remembering her earlier request.  
  
"They're on the second shelf in the refrigerator, next to your midnight snack."  
  
"You'll make some girl a great husband one of these days, Fag." She said with a smile, ducking back into the living room.  
  
Trowa finished setting the table and slipped back into the kitchen a split second before a car door slammed in the drive. The front door banged open and swung shut with a boom, and Triton Barton stalked into the dining room where his smiling daughter waited on one side of the small table for him.  
  
Trowa listened very carefully to the conversation in the next room, his heart sinking a little with every angry word his father said. He was in for a very rough night.  
  
Dearest Goddess, this is a short-ass chapter. I think I might write this one in nice little pieces like this; it'll save me a lot of typer's cramps I get from The Ties That Bind and Fear the Eyebrows.  
  
Review! I need reviews! Me hungry review monster! Rar! 


	2. Chapter Two

To Hailey- I'm glad you like it. But as to what ultimately happens to Trowa… I honestly can't tell you, but I think he might die… I guess we'll both find out when the time comes, ne?

To Bunch-o-Nuts- Of course it's depressing. It's based on a song about child abuse, after all. But I'm glad people like it. Since my muse abandoned me, I have to rely on people like you and Hailey and Sooti for my inspiration.

To Sooti- Thanks for saying so. It warms my heart to know that people are reading this. I just hope you guys review for the next chapter and tell your friends about me! (end shameless self-advertisement)

To Katsie2- I loved your version, even if it was short and you really need to take a typing class! How could I not put it on my favorites? And this wouldn't be much of a Concrete Angel fic if it wasn't sad, my friend. I'm glad you think it's cool, though.

* * *

Chapter Two

* * *

"Ow, ow, ow, _ow_!" Catherine exclaimed, wincing. "Why does it have to hurt so damned much?" 

"It's incentive to be more careful so you don't have to go through this again." Trowa explained with a completely straight face. "Maybe you've learned not to have nail file fights with cobwebs now." Putting the bottle of rubbing alcohol down, he carefully wrapped his sister's arm in a thin gauze bandage. "And we're done."

"Okay. Just as long as it's understood that we never speak of this incident again."

"Do we ever?" Trowa asked, packing up the first aid kit. "I need to get started on dinner."

* * *

Trowa sat in his favorite part of the school grounds - the courtyard - and smiled up at the blue sky. He always enjoyed this part of the school day best; he had a full stomach, he was out in the open with nothing to do, and he didn't have to worry about being beaten up for it. 

He shifted a little, wincing when a small rock pressed into a bruise near his shoulder blade. Reaching under his back, he managed to dislodge the rock before settling back again.

He was right on the verge of falling asleep when someone tripped over him.

With a barely-contained yelp of pain, Trowa sat up, managing to avoid being hit again, in time to see whoever had tripped over him nosedive into the ground a few feet away.

"Shit, are you all right?" Trowa asked, scrambling over to the boy. "You didn't break your nose, did you?"

"I'm fine." Came the short reply as the boy pulled himself into a sitting position, one hand covering his nose and mouth under cold Prussian blue eyes. "What the hell do you think you're doing, lying in the middle of the walkway like that?"

"Resting." Trowa said, grabbing the boy's wrist and pulling his hand away from his face. "Let me look."

"What are you, some kind of doctor?" The boy asked sarcastically, glaring at Trowa but making no move to cover his face again.

"I plan to be," Trowa answered. "It looks like it's not broken, just bruised. You might want to see the nurse about an ice pack."

"You might want to see her about that bruise on your forehead." The boy retorted. "How did that happen?"

"I tripped." Trowa told him, ready with a plausible lie. "Hit my head on my desk."

"You're a horrible liar." The boy said. "My name's Heero. Heero Yuy. If you ever feel like telling the truth, ask for me." Then he stood up and walked away without a backwards glance, leaving Trowa alone in the courtyard again.

* * *

Trowa spent the rest of the day thinking about Heero, wondering how the boy had known he was lying. Everyone else bought his story about tripping, even people who knew him and knew he was actually very graceful. 

The truth was he hadn't tripped at all; his father had _thrown_ him into the desk that night. Only the way his head had connected with the desk was different.

Luckily for Trowa, he managed not to burn anything making dinner, and escaped with nothing more than a few smacks that night.

Ah, the days when Triton was in a good mood…

* * *

Heero found himself watching the strange boy from the courtyard on and off over the next few days. He had a sneaking suspicion about that bruise, and the more he watched, the more convinced he became he was right. No one who could manage to make it across the commons reading and not bump into anyone even once would just trip for no good reason. 

Unfortunately, he had no way of checking his theory, since he didn't even know the boy's name. He'd just have to do this the hard way; wait for the mystery kid to come to him.

* * *

"You're being difficult, Catherine." Trowa said quietly, picking up the towel he'd dropped and putting it in the washer. 

"Was that a yes or a no, Fag?" Catherine demanded testily, crossing her arms. "I hope for your sake it's the first."

"It's a no, Catherine." Trowa managed between clenched teeth, trying his damnedest not to slam the lid of the washer shut. "I'm not your personal slave, and I will not let you use me just to make yourself look good. No matter what our father says, I'm still a human being."

"I'll tell Daddy you're seeing that boy again." She threatened, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

"You really do want me dead, don't you?" Trowa hissed, bolting upright, sure that his sister knew damned well what their father would do to him if he found out he'd so much as glanced at Zechs.

"Daddy!" Catherine called in a singsong voice, grinning maliciously.

"Fine!" He whispered frantically, his expression close to outright panic. "I'll do it! Just... just don't!"

Catherine's smile turned unbearably smug as their father wandered into the laundry room.

"Yes, Cathy dear?" Triton asked amiably, although his eyes were busy fixing Trowa with a hateful glare.

"Daddy, can you take me shopping?" Catherine asked sweetly, the exact opposite of the complete bitch she'd been just seconds ago. "I need a new outfit for the dance this Friday."

"So that Mason boy finally asked you?"

"And about time, too." Cathy pouted, crossing her arms. "But he's going to be wearing red and black, so we have to match. So will you take me?"

"Of course, dear." Triton assured her, kissing the top of her head. "Is _he_ going?" He asked, jerking a thumb in Trowa's direction, where the teen was busy pretending he was alone in the laundry room.

"Yeah, but only to collect tickets." Cathy answered with a trace of disgust. "The teachers wanted him to because he's a 'mature, responsible young man'. Guess they don't know what he's really like."

Trowa, still ignoring the two, picked up the basket of folded laundry and walked as fast as he dared down the hall to the stairs.

* * *

"I buy the desk, but I find the tripping hard to believe." 

Trowa stiffened involuntarily, half-expecting a blow to the back of the head before he realized it wasn't his father speaking.

"Coordinated guy like you, I think someone helped you into that desk. If it was a desk."

"How's your nose feeling?" Trowa asked, identifying the voice as belonging to Heero Yuy.

"I'd be more worried about yourself, if I were you." Heero retorted. "Mind telling me why you're at home scrubbing the kitchen on a Saturday?"

"Mind telling me what the hell you're doing at my house?"

"Turns out I'm the closest thing you've got to a next-door neighbor." Heero answered flatly. "Now why are you in here doing housework?"

"Maybe I _like_ cleaning." Trowa said. And he did, to an extent. He found it a very calming activity.

"You like getting smacked around, too?"

"What makes you say that?"

"The fact that your old man – I'm assuming he's your old man – laid one on you before he peeled out."

"It's none of your business." Trowa snapped, tossing the floor brush into the bucket of water next to him and sitting back on his heels. "So why don't you go home?"

"Why do you put up with it?"

"I'm 17; in less than a year, I free. Why bother with the hard way?"

"What if he kills you?"

"Go home, Heero."

* * *

_I am very, very sorry it's taken me so long to update this story! I've been working on so much lately, and I just moved, and there are eight people staying in a two-bedroom apartment, and if I wasn't crazy before, I am now! I'll try to work more on this in the future, but I can't make any promises._


	3. Chapter Three

To Onigami Nanashi- First of all, I love your name. Second of all, thank you for the review. Yes, Cathy acts like a real bitch, doesn't she? Don't worry; I curse all the time in my stories. Look at my profile, and you'll see one warning on almost all of them: language. Yes, 1x3 is a very yummy pairing.

To Kuro no Baka- I feel sorry for Trowa, too. He always has it so rough in my stories… But then there's Heero, so I guess we're even in this one! (Trowa- The hell we are.)

To Bunch-o-Nuts- I'll try to move faster on this story, but I can't make any promises.

To NailPolishBunny- Hey, Sooti! I like your new name. Very unique. Thanks for the review!

* * *

Trowa was probably the only person at the dance not in eveningwear. He wasn't the kind of guy to get dressed up for any reason, and this was no exception. His only concession to the occasion was a new navy blue turtleneck and a pair of pressed black jeans. Since he had absolutely no intention of wandering any further than the nearest restroom, he saw no reason to go out of his way to look nice.

The brunette collected tickets wordlessly, nodding couples in one at a time before moving on to the next pair. Everyone who knew him knew that he wasn't a big talker, so no one took his silence amiss.

Truth be told, however, Trowa's silence tonight was due almost entirely to the scheme his sister had cooked up and his part in it. He was actually dreading the end of the dance.

* * *

Heero stood out of the way of the stream of students, doing what he did best; watching. Like a silent ghost, the brunette watched every move Trowa made, his eyes never leaving the taller teen. Trowa's grace was apparent in everything he did, even something as simple as collecting tickets. It was mesmerizing.

After he'd figured out who his mystery man was, Heero hadn't been able to stop thinking about him. Every time he saw Trowa, his hands itched to move those long bangs and see what was under them. He wanted to kidnap him, to save him from his father. He wanted to hold the other boy in his arms and soothe him. More than anything, he wanted to see a real smile on those thin lips, not one of the plastic smiles Trowa wore in school.

In short, he was hopelessly smitten.

Love wasn't exactly something he was familiar with; he'd been adopted at a fairly grown age, a year or so after his mother had committed suicide. He cared for his adoptive parents, of course, but he couldn't truthfully say that he loved them. He'd never had a girlfriend or a boyfriend, never had a crush on a celebrity. He just wasn't given to such volatile emotions. But even with his lack of experience, he knew exactly why it was that the mere sight of Trowa did strange things to his mind and stomach.

And he wasn't exactly unhappy about it.

_He'll be 18 in less than a year._ He reminded himself. _Then I can ask him if he might be willing to give it a try._ Heero's amazing self-control was being tried to its limits just standing there looking at Trowa; he wasn't sure what would happen if he ever confessed how he felt to the younger brunette.

A sudden tensing of Trowa's shoulders pulled Heero's thoughts back to the present as a couple dressed in matching red and black outfits handed over their tickets. The girl, whom Heero identified as Trowa's younger sister, flashed Trowa an odd look of disgust before sweeping past him and into the hall.

* * *

_Dammit, she's here._ Trowa groaned silently. _She really wants to go through with this!_ Although his face remained impassive, his mind was roiling, thinking of his sister's twisted plan.

A hand touched his shoulder, and Trowa almost jumped out of his skin.

"Your shift's over." Zechs said quietly, his blue eyes worried. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing you can help with." Trowa replied just as softly, unable to look his former boyfriend in the eye. "Just trouble with Catherine."

"I see."

Although Trowa could feel Zechs's penetrating stare on his back as he walked away, he was just as glad the blond chose not to press the issue.

In his unfocused state, he wasn't really surprised when someone else managed to sneak up on him. This person grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him into an empty classroom before he even had time to yelp.

* * *

"So we meet again."

"What do you want _now_, Heero?" Trowa demanded, massaging his wrist. "I'm kind of busy."

"Doing what, exactly?" Heero asked, his penetrating blue eyes pinning Trowa where he stood, somehow dragging the truth out of him.

"What… what Catherine wants." He confessed, tearing his eyes away from those deep, hypnotic pools and staring at the ground. "She's got this… plan."

"Oh, really? And what does this plan entail?" Heero prompted, an odd note in his voice.

"I'm… she wants me to… to…"

"To…"

"To hurt someone. She wants me to beat her boyfriend up."

"Why?" Heero asked, his eyes glinting strangely in the dark shadows of the room.

"How should I know?" Trowa demanded irritably, looking Heero right in the eye for the first time since the two had met.

"Why are you listening to her?" Heero elaborated.

"Because…" Trowa started, then shook his head. "You wouldn't understand." He said, turning to the door.

Again, Heero grabbed his wrist, effectively trapping him in the room.

"Try me." The dark-haired boy said, his eyes again drawing out the truth against Trowa's will.

"She threatened to tell my father."

"Tell him what?"

"Heero, why won't you leave me alone?"

"_Tell him what?_" Heero repeated with more force, his hand tightening on Trowa's arm to an almost painful degree.

"That… that I was… seeing someone. A boy." Trowa looked away again, feeling his face grow hot. He'd never told anyone about his preferences before, and he hadn't meant to tell Heero. The words had slipped out on accident.

"I see." Heero said in a flat voice. "Is that why he hits you?"

"Yes." Trowa whispered, afraid to look at the other boy.

"Well, let me let you in on a little secret, Trowa Barton. I understand better than you think. I want you to remember this conversation when you think about lying to me again." Heero's hand left his wrist, and the shorter teen slipped past him to the door. "I'm going to go have a talk with your sister. Stay here."

The door swung shut on Trowa's protest, and he heard the unmistakable sound of a lock turning.

* * *

_That little bitch._ For one moment, Heero had the irrational urge to find Trowa's sister and strangle her. That anyone could even _think_ of using Trowa like that was enough to make his blood boil.

But by the time he found the girl, he'd calmed down enough to be logical about the whole situation. It wouldn't do to hurt her. Scaring her, though… well, that was another story altogether.

Catherine Barton was alone near the edge of the dance floor, enjoying a glass of punch while her date was off somewhere else.

"Excuse me." He said quietly, startling her. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to grant me a dance?"

She stared at him a moment, then seemed to comprehend what exactly he'd said.

"Of course I would!" She assured him brightly, smiling and setting her cup down on a handy table.

He led her out onto the floor to the opening notes of a slow waltz, and the two danced in silence for a few measures.

"May I ask your name?" She asked finally.

"I'd really rather you didn't." Heero told her. "There's something I want to talk to you about."

"Really? What?"

"Your brother. Specifically, the way you planned on using him."

"W-what?"

"Don't play innocent with me, girl." He warned her, tightening his arm around her waist. "I know when someone is lying to me. I'd suggest abandoning your little scheme; Trowa won't be able to make it to the party."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Catherine hissed. "Did you kill him or something?"

"No, he's perfectly all right, not that you give a damn. He's just otherwise occupied tonight. It would be best for all parties involved for you to stop acting like such a cold, heartless bitch, Catherine." He said as the song wound to a close. "And if you so much as think of telling your father about this conversation… Well, let's just say you won't be doing much dancing when I get through with you."

* * *

_Dammit._

Trowa was trapped. The door was too heavy to break down, the windows too high and narrow to climb through. There was no door to an adjoining classroom.

"This is just great." He sighed, sliding down the wall to the thin carpet. "Now what, Trowa? How do you plan to get out of _this_ mess?"

"You could always ask the guy with the key to let you out." Heero remarked from the doorway. "Not promising he would, but it never hurts to ask."

"You're a real bastard, Heero." Trowa snarled, glaring at the other brunette. "Did you know that?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I did."

* * *

_Voila. Chapter three completed. I'll try to move faster on chapter four, but I'll be moving in a few days, so…_


	4. Chapter Four

To Rany- Oh, yes... All the things Heero can do for poor Trowa...

To Trowa03- Don't you just wanna smack his dad? I mean really deck him? Because every time I write for this story, I have the sudden urge to strangle him. I keep myself from doing so with thoughts of what I've got planned for him come the end of the story. Those are very lovely thoughts. As for Cathy, well, would you stand up to her father if you were in her shoes?

To GundamGrl01- Thanks, and I'll try.

To Nanshisummer- I will!

To Onigami Nanashi- I know! It's kind of annoying sometimes. I'm sorry about not updating, but I'm kind of stuck on this one. I actually had no real plans for Zechs, but a little 2x6x2 doesn't sound so bad. Trowa has his reasons for keeping Heero at arm's length- namely, his father. I'll try to get inspired for this one and get it out. I'm actually working on the last few chapters right now; I just can't get this particular part to work for me.

* * *

For three days, Trowa's every waking moment was filled with tense apprehension. Whatever Heero had done, Catherine was bound to tell their father, with a few embellishments for effect. And once Triton heard what Catherine had to tell him, Trowa was in for the beating of a lifetime.

When after three days, nothing unusual happened, Trowa dared to relax a little. If Triton didn't know by now, he would probably never know. Trowa thanked whatever deity had been watching over him lately; the last thing he needed now was broken bones, and his father was bound to give him a few if he went off again.

He found out on Monday afternoon why exactly Catherine had kept her mouth shut.

* * *

"What are you trying to pull, Fag?" Catherine demanded, stomping up to Trowa with death in her eyes.

"What are you talking about?" Trowa shot back, reaching across the seat and opening the jeep door for her.

"Your Goddamn bodyguard paid me another visit today." She snapped, climbing into the vehicle and slamming the door. "You know damn well I haven't told Daddy a thing, so why did you sic him on me again?"

"I repeat- what are you talking about? I don't _have_ a bodyguard, Cathy."

"Is he your slave, then?" She asked waspishly. "He's obviously working for you, or he wouldn't corner me in the hall and threaten to kill me!"

"Someone threatened to kill you?" Trowa demanded, whipping around to stare at her. "And you think _I_ had something to do with it? Catherine, are you insane?"

"You mean... you really have no idea what I'm talking about?"

"Of course I don't. You should know me well enough to know that I wouldn't _threaten_ anyone. If I had a problem with you, I'd tell you so myself."

"Well, then, what to you plan to do about that maniac? This is the second time he's done this!"

"I'll find out who he is and have a talk with him." Trowa said with a shrug. He already had a pretty good idea of who he'd be confronting, too.

_Heero, you're an idiot.

* * *

_

"Heero, you're an idiot."

"Some might say that, yes." Heero agreed without looking up from his book.

"What in God's name possessed you to threaten my sister?" Trowa asked sternly. "You're just lucky she's a bit of a coward, or she'd have gone straight to our father, and then where would we be?"

"Bermuda."

"This isn't the time for jokes, Heero."

"It's not a joke. If the opportunity ever arose, I'd kidnap you and take you to Bermuda. Or maybe France. Would you prefer France?"

"I'd prefer to stay right where I am." Trowa snapped. "I was born in this town, and I'd very much like to die here."

"You keep putting up with that man, you just may get your wish."

"I can handle it, Heero."

"Somehow, I doubt that."

* * *

"I'm home," Heero announced, closing the front door and dropping his bag.

"Welcome home, Heero," A woman's voice called from the general direction of the living room. "How was your day?"

"Boring," He answered. "Did you enjoy your trip, Une?"

"Africa's always lovely this time of year." Une said, smiling sweetly at Heero over the 3D castle puzzle she was working on. "When are you going to give in and start calling me Mom?"

"Who knows?"

"Heero, honey, I may not be your biological mother, but do you or do you not agree that I have raised and taken care of you for the past eight years?"

"You have."

"Then is asking that you call me Mom – even if only when we're alone – asking too much?"

"I'm sorry if I've made you feel unappreciated, but when you consider who I called Mother for the first half of my life, it should be understandable that I wouldn't want to give you the same label."

"Heero, what's wrong?" Une asked suddenly, pushing dusty brown hair away from her face. "You're exceptionally tense. What happened while I was gone?"

"Nothing,"

"Don't 'nothing' _me_, young man; I know when something's bothering my son." Une gave him a penetrating look, and suddenly smiled. "I know! You're in love, aren't you? Oh, Heero, that's wonderful! Who is she?"

"He," Heero corrected absently, most of his attention already on the puzzle.

"Even better," Une said, smiling. "He have a name?"

"Trowa,"

Une's smile became slightly smug, although her tone didn't change. "And why is finding the love of your young life making you so down?"

"He's- Une, what are you doing to me?"

"Trying to distract you sufficiently to learn all I can about this Trowa." Une laughed. "Guess you caught me. Okay, I promise not to ask anything more until you say I can.

"Now, can you find a place for this piece?"

* * *

_Meep._

_I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry! I didn't mean to take so long updating! Please forgive me!_


End file.
